


broken mirrors; spilt water

by amelioratedays



Category: Awaken-F - Fandom, 偶像练习生 | Idol Producer (TV)
Genre: M/M, Will i ever update..., hmmm, this is a question
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-22
Updated: 2018-10-22
Packaged: 2019-08-06 01:18:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,297
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16378658
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/amelioratedays/pseuds/amelioratedays
Summary: Your typical first-loves meet again trope I guessau, unbeta-ed





	broken mirrors; spilt water

**Author's Note:**

> I'm so sorry that my brand is Neurotic Narration(tm) and inconsistent updates.

Twenty past four.  
Thursday.

 

The empty apartment next door finally finds a tenant.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Qin Fen doesn’t expect for old memories to collide into his thoughts; nor, does he expect once familiar faces to reappear into his life. But then again, life often works its way like tidal waves crashing upon him—everything occurs with bone-breaking fatigue.

 

Time slows to a standstill, breath lodging in his lungs as he stops mid-step. _It’s okay,_  he thinks,  _it’s only matters of the past._ For it was things done and over with, people whom he’s left in the past and moved on from. Yet when he looks at the man in front of him, a slight thud hitting his chest, he wonders if he’s ever truly moved on.

 

His watch lays heavily, as with his heart, upon his wrist as the second hand ticks in place. It almost seems dream-like, buried memories dancing around him as he’s trapped in the realm of unconsciousness. He fiddles nervously with his keys, metal softly clanging amidst the quiet hallway. Mubo turns around at the noise, stumbling upon Qin Fen’s gaze.

 

And maybe this was a dream after all, falling back into patterns of days long ago. Everything would come to an end when the moon falls and sun rises; the black of the night dispersing under the rays of gold. Perhaps the image of Mubo would dissipate as well, alongside the age old memories that he’s kept at the back of his mind for so long.

 

It’s Mubo that transcends time and space, moving towards him despite the world held at pause. He breaks the spell, pulling Qin Fen back to reality and the second hand ticks on—finally moving past the number six. “Hey,” he hears him say. The breath that’s been stuck in his trachea finally expels itself; though, it only leaves him feeling empty. ( _Asphyxiation_ )

 

“Hey,” he echoes quietly, finally bringing his arm to his side. He tugs anxiously to the hem of his shirt, unable to keep them still.

 

“It’s been a long while,” Mubo starts. Qin Fen hums in agreement.

 

“How are you doing lately?”

 

“Good,” Qin Fen lies, remembering to not avert his gaze. He knows it’s absurd, the way his ego still doesn’t allow him to let go, reverting back to the days of seventeen and they’re still sparring with words left unsaid. _I can’t lose I can’t lose I can’t lose_ repeats in his head. But what exactly was it that he was losing in this one-man game? There’s nothing left for him to lose. He stuffs his hand hastily in the pocket of his jacket, “How about you?” He asks.

 

“Same,” The younger male replies, “I just moved here recently for work.” There’s a small smile upon the other’s expression, one that Qin Fen knows is genuine. But also one that places a hand upon his throat—grip strong enough to constrict his breathing but not enough to kill him. It’s never enough, everything with Han Mubo settles in a grey area, small doses of toxin that accumulate over time.

 

Seeing Han Mubo again wasn’t an event that Qin Fen expected, the courses of their life finding another intersection point instead of running off in opposite directions. For it’s already been so many years ( _Seven? Eight? He doesn’t bother to calculate_ ) and the thought of the other male has been buried beneath his mind for so many passing days.

 

But some things ( _things of love- of youth_ ) manifest themselves like that of life in dormancy. Things that you reckon can stay forgotten forever only to have it revive with even more vigour than it took to lock it away. Time does nothing but slowly accentuate the momentum of its impact.

 

“My number’s still the same,” Mubo tells him when they part ways and Qin Fen only nods in response, as if the same number hasn’t been already blocked for all these years.

 

“I’ll see you around?”

 

“Sure.”

 

Let bygones be bygones, they say.  
Qin Fen buries the ashes within his blood.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

He doesn’t understand the magic of life—how luck accumulates like grey clouds. Where it’s constantly brooding and brooding, mustering up the energy before finally storming upon the earth below. Rain descends from the heavens-

 

Sometimes it nourishes. Sometimes it destroys.  
A double edged sword.

 

Luck seems to be something he doesn’t possess, always slipping past his grasp like sand escaping through the cracks between his fingers. Where all that starts well often runs into unexplored roads, full of apprehension and turmoil.

 

The rain that befalls his thoughts today is black in colour, melding with the words that travel between neurons. Dark streaks stain his mind, criss-crossing upon one another until he finds himself lost in a world of noir.

 

Is it that fate mandates everything bad to happen together? Or is it that his life is simply going downhill? Though at the moment, he reckons that it may be a bit of both. The elders have always said that the amount of happiness and suffering in one’s life is predetermined. So was it that he’s already used up all the luck he could afford?

 

And if so, was Han Mubo the last bit of good luck in his life? Or was he simply another stroke of black upon the Book of Merit?

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

He gives a small sigh, turning on the gas range before placing the empty pan upon it. _Tick tick tick_ goes the stove. _Tick tick tick_ goes the second hand of his watch. He clicks his tongue in repetition.

 

 _Tick tick tick_ , and the bomb detonates.

  
“What’s the point?” He asks aloud, wondering if Mubo can hear him past tiled walls. “I’m over you,” he says, cracking an egg into the pan, watching as it sizzles upon the hot oil. “You’re over me.”

 

_You love me, you love me not._

 

He pokes through the yoke, stirring it hastily with his spatula. “What’s the point?” He repeats, “there’s no point.”

 

And there really isn’t, when he’s two years to the age of thirty. He should be wiser, calmer—bolder. He’s at an age where he should be able to face things of his past, logically and directly. Perhaps, reflect upon the good old days over a bottle of beer and leave such thoughts behind after a night’s sleep.

 

But Han Mubo’s existence seems like that of a parasite, slowly consuming his thoughts bit by bit until all he can fathom is the other. And even after a whole night of dreams, he wakes up asking himself _“why?”_

 

Why was it that their love was always so unbalanced—he’s giving and giving until he’s parched and dry. Why is it that after all this time of him initiating, the first time Han Mubo reaches out to him was to put an end to their relationship? Had it not meant to be this serious? Just another fleeting romance that is constricted to time and place—was he naive to think of them lasting _forever_? Had he ever existed in Han Mubo’s thoughts of the future?

 

Was it love at the tender age of seventeen? Or was it simply infatuation and curiosity? Is it love _now_ at the age of twenty-seven? Or is it just fixation of all that was left unanswered and his bruised ego? He’s the only one holding on, a flame fueled by love that he’s given and can’t retrieve back. Maybe Mubo’s already moved on—perhaps, he’s never passed a second thought on it—living his life now perfectly well. Logic tells him that he should as well; though it all only leaves him with a feel of indignity.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Four past seven.  
Friday.

He wakes up to muffled sounds of a cello.  
The embers within his eyes glow a dark red.

**Author's Note:**

> I started this way back when and had it collecting dust on my drive so... here we go....


End file.
